Morbid
by Darkheart Du Lac
Summary: Oneshot. Alex is called in to identify two bodies, but will they be who he fears the most?


Hello! This is a little oneshot I typed out because I'm stuck on the next chapter of Leap of Faith. It's set a few years into the future; Alex is in his early twenties and still working for MI6. Also, for some reason I pictured him in a suit while writing this. I have no idea why.

Warning: Character death (no shit) and some non-gory descriptions of dead bodies. It's a bit depressing, but no more descriptive than that episode of Sherlock where he has to identify the body.

Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.

* * *

**_Morbid_**

* * *

There was a particularly irritating type of rain sprinkling the air as he cut his way through the crowds. From offices poured grey-suited men and women that shouldered past him without a glance. The drizzle had dissolved their politeness. Dark black clouds were curling in the sky above them; it wouldn't be long before the heavens opened in a storm.

He didn't break stride as he approached the grand, brown-tinged-gold building, shook out his umbrella and stepped inside. The doors – each branded with a "Saint Dominics" crest – slid shut behind him, and Alex was once again trapped in the world of white sheets and antiseptic that he hated so much.

There wasn't any need to bother the girl on the desk today. Sitting on a row of deserted waiting chairs was a familiar man in his 60s with slick black hair and overalls. She did, however, manage to shoot him a tight, sympathetic smile through her phone call, and Alex felt his stomach lurch. Quickly, he moved to the waiting area.

"How's it going, Griff?" he asked casually, glancing around the hospital on autopilot. The CCTV was working. Nobody was acting suspiciously. But Alex knew better than to let down his guard, especially when he was like this.

"Not bad, not bad," the man muttered, as he always did.

"Busy?"

"As I ever am."

Alex nodded, hands buried deep in his pockets. Griff took his time getting to his feet. As of the third last time Alex had met him, he had walked with a stick.

"Keep expectin' to see you in there, Alex," he said suddenly. "Wouldn't be a surprise."

A humourless smile tugged at Alex's lips. "Not me, Griff. They're far too careful for that."

Despite the stick, they moved through the hospital with surprising speed. At first they couldn't pass through a door without bumping into a nurse, doctor, patient or visitor. But as they moved from the living wards, less and less people smiled as they walked past. Eventually just wall and window streamed past them. This was the one section of the hospital with no posters, colourful blinds or welcoming staff. The people that stayed in this ward were beyond cheering.

It always seemed to take forever to reach the unremarkable blue door. Today was no exception. After what felt like hours, they came to a halt and Griff fumbled for the key-ring on his belt. Alex bit his lip. This was slow torture. Every nerve in Alex's body was on fire, because beyond that door...

He clenched his fist in his pocket, like the latest therapist kept telling him to do. Take every fear and scrunch it deep into his palm. He could survive this.

"Here we go." The door clicked open. Griff swung it wide with a loud creak and held open his arm. "After you."

Alex entered a long chamber filled with what could have been lockers. Griff led the way, humming tunelessly. Alex followed in silence. It seemed wrong to be any louder than necessary here. When they reached compartment 31, the older man slowed, drew out his keys and yanked open the vault. Then he did the same with the adjacent compartment.

Alex raised his eyebrows. "Two?"

Griff just shrugged, allowing his actions to speak for him, and drew back the sheets covering their faces.

"Okay," he grunted.

Alex sent up a quick prayer, and looked.

There they were. Both of them like in his nightmares – laid flat, side by side. The man on the left he had only met once, as a fresh-faced 14-year-old, new to spying and all of this. Naïve, but about to learn his lesson, to lose his innocence. And the man on the right…

Alex took a step forward, eyes roaming over the white stone skin, blue lips that would never crack another smile. A single tear fell onto the cold cheek of his former friend. Dark hair, dark eyes… one of the only people he'd ever been able to trust…

"I know why you called me, Griff," he said suddenly, his voice sounding strange, "but don't you think there are two other people who deserve to be here more?"

"Yeah, I thought you'd say that. They ain't here. They're abroad."

"And they couldn't come back for _this_?" Alex asked in disgust.

The old man just shrugged. "Don't ask me. So you wanna sign the forms now?"

"Send them to my office. Look… can you give me a minute to say goodbye? I just... well, I don't think I'll be invited to the funerals."

"I'll be outside the door."

Alex didn't look up as he left. Eventually the plodding of the walking stick on linoleum faded and the clang of the door told him that he was alone.

* * *

Griff gave Alex ten minutes. He figured that he wouldn't need any longer. On the other hand, Alex had never asked to "say goodbye" to anybody in those vaults before.

Sure enough, when he opened the door ten minutes later he was already waiting with his back pressed against the wall. Griff wondered but didn't ask why he hadn't just come back out. The door hadn't been locked.

Walking back up the corridor to reception was less tense than walking down it, but there was always a different sort of atmosphere. Sometimes it would be one of relief, sometimes one of anger. Griff didn't like being around Alex when he was angry. It made him remind himself why he hadn't just worked in an ordinary hospital instead of one for government screw ups and military nuts – but money was money, after all, and Saint Dominics paid a _lot_.

"Heard from those army friends of yours, lately?" Griff asked. "Keep expecting to see one of them in there."

Alex winced. "Don't, Griff. Ben's doing just fine and the last time I heard, K Unit were too. I just want to keep it that way, yeah? I've lost too many friends, Griff. I…"

He trailed off and Griff became aware that he was walking on his own. Turning, he saw Alex with his eyes closed, head bowed, deep pain etched into his face.

"You knew 'em well, didn't you?" Griff asked softly. This was genuine grief. From _Alex_. He'd _never_ seen the kid this close to emotion, and he'd led him down this corridor enough times for them to be on first name terms.

"Yeah… God… sorry…"

"Don't be, son. It's nothin' to be ashamed of—"

"But it is!" he cried. "It's my fault! If it wasn't for me, they'd be fine – they'd be _alive_! God… Tom… and Jerry – I barely knew the guy…"

Tom and Jerry Harris. Yes, those had been the names given to the morgue. They'd been assassinated in a coffee shop in Venice; dead before the ambulance arrived. Their parents were in Las Vegas, unable to catch a flight back until next week.

"Look, Alex," Griff say awkwardly, "it ain't your fault. None of 'em are."

"Then how come I'm always the one identifying the bodies?"

There was a silence. Alex took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Griff. If anyone isn't to blame, it's you. I'll show myself out—"

"Alex—"

"It's not like I don't know the way."

* * *

The rain sounded torrential as it hailed down on the windows of the reception, but once he stepped outside Alex saw that the storm clouds had moved on. Rays of sunlight were breaking through the showers.

How could Griff stand that, day after day? Didn't he feel the ghosts pressing in on him? It was more than Alex could take, and Alex had been an agent for ten unhappy years now.

He let the first taxi he saw pass him. And the second. They slowed for a moment before taking him the slump of the young man's shoulders, the detached expression and the building behind him. They pulled away with a roar that splashed his ankles with rainwater.

Alex breathed a long breath. Another.

_One for each life you've cost today, Rider._

Then he opened his eyes – the image of Tom's dead body pushed to the deepest depths of his mind – and held out his hand in the rain.

* * *

So what did you think? Did anyone think the dead guys were Wolf and Ben? Please review!

**Ally xoxo**


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